“I’ve got your letter, my dear fellow,” said he at last in his dry, deliberate voice. “But there’s nothing that I can see just now.”
“Nothing?” mumbled Igumnov, growing red.
“Absolutely nothing, my dear fellow. Every place is taken. And I don’t see anything in prospect for the near future. Perhaps something might be done for you at New Year.”
“I’ll be glad of a chance even then,” said Igumnov, smiling in such a way as to suggest that a mere eight months was of no account to him.
“Yes, I’ll be very glad to do something then. If it depended upon me you’d get your place to-day. I’d like very much to be of use to you, my good man.”
“Thank you,” said Igumnov.
“But tell me,” asked Semiboyarinov sympathetically, “why did you leave your old place?”
“They found no use for me,” answered Igumnov, confused.
“No use for you? Well, I hope we’ll find some use for you. Let me have your address, my good fellow.”
Semiboyarinov began to rummage on his table for a piece of paper. Igumnov just then caught sight of his own letter under a marble paper-weight.